The Features of a Dream
by VioletMoodSwings
Summary: Relations with Clara have been tense since the Doctor's regeneration, but an unguarded mind can reveal so much. Serious angst followed by serious Doctor-on-companion-on-Doctor smut. The third installation of the "Open Mind" series.


Clara's big eyes grew wider as the two men towered over her naked body. Fully clothed, the youth and the old man stared intently at Clara, waiting for a signal of consent. Five hearts hammered in anticipation. The tiniest nod would have done, so when Clara uttered "Yes, oh yes," the Doctors exchanged a look of muted, carnal joy. As they descended upon her, Clara's hormone-addled brain raced to figure out how this was even possible...

The leather couch by the fireplace of the TARDIS library had warmed beneath Clara but stayed cool under the Doctor. He leaned heavily into the armrest, codger's nose ground into a book. Clara sat on the middle cushion, not quite touching him, legs bent, hardcover book upon her knees, stockinged feet idly toeing the upholstery. Every so often Clara's doe eyes darted between the Doctor and paragraphs of an autographed first edition of "Mr. Norris Changes Trains." The Doctor's rabid eyebrows furrowed and perked with aggressive interest from behind a tattered paperback by Issac Asimov. It was probably signed as well, Clara thought.

The fire toasted Clara through red tights and a provocative short black dress that somehow still gave the illusion of modesty. (In his head the Doctor had begun bastardizing the old saying to, "You pick a dress after your own personality.") The heat soothed Clara and, as happens so often with humans, her eyelids began to droop. As consciousness leaked away, slowly Clara slumped towards the Doctor until she came to rest upon his bony shoulder. The Doctor stole a glance at her through the corner of his eye.

He allowed the briefest of smiles to ghost across his lips before reality shooed it away. Once this woman had loved him. Once he'd memorized every immaculate millimeter of Clara's perfection. But that had been another life, another face. Now the affection she felt was not for a lover; it was for a "space dad." At first the Doctor keenly felt Clara's sense of loss for her bow-tied boyfriend, accompanied by his own anger at her change of heart. These days his grief had merged into guilt, most of which he managed to cram down in Clara's presence.

The Doctor sighed deeply and pressed his head into the back of the couch. He stared at the never-ending bookcases that stretched to the high ceiling; stories of stories. Clara's even breaths tickled the hair on the back of his hand.

It had been another long day of running, of talking very quickly—and avoiding Clara's notice when he found himself gazing with adoration. Daleks, Cybermen, bloodthirsty Zygons: all a piece of cake compared to the effort he put into acting casual around her. The pretense was probably the most tiresome thing about his Wednesdays—surprising for a creature who lied as easily as he sipped a cup of tea. It was a rare occurrence, but the Doctor was truly exhausted.

Clara nuzzled into his lean arm, asleep. Reflexively the Doctor wriggled it out from under her weight and drew her into his chest. It felt so familiar. She snuggled up, curling her knees in and humming her content. Clara's lax warmth calmed him. She might not love him as she once had, but at least it seemed his Clara was here to stay. The Doctor's sad smile returned in the glow of the fire and his own eyes blinked sleepily.

This is almost certainly a bad idea, he thought as the hand that held the paperback relaxed to the arm of the couch. He didn't have the energy left to fight it. His sanity required that he enjoy this serene moment, that he just...

The Doctor drifted off.

oOo

It'd been ages since she dreamed of her Doctor. After his regeneration it had happened so often she began to confuse memories with the constructs of her filthy imagination. As things had heated up with Danny, eventually she forced her brain to change the subject when her young Doctor's floppy fringe and flashing green gaze appeared in her mind's eye. Especially when he twined his fingers through her hair, set that strong chin of his and bent her roughly over the console. Or when they rolled laughing in a field of soft mauve clover wearing nothing but their TARDIS keys. Or when he whispered "I love you" in Gallifreyan—at least that's what she always assumed he was saying.

It was during she and the grumpy new Doctor's supposed "last hurrah" on the Orient Express that he'd begun to creep back into her somnolent sentiments, this time in his current form. Initially she'd catch a brief glimpse as he regarded her severely from his imposing armchair, fingers forming a Machiavellian peak at his lips.

Gradually things progressed in her dreamland. The red lining of his coat played hide-and-seek as he backed her against a wall with delicious menace. In the nights to come the Doctor's demanding lips caught hers. The breathless kiss never had to end because of the unnecessary nature of respiration in a dream. Back in reality, Danny could sense her growing attraction for the man she spent so much time with and there was nothing she could do for it. Nothing she _would_ do for it. But despite the suggestive nature of her new dreams, they never graduated to intercourse or even nudity.

But after all this time, here the young man stood behind her eyelids once again. Her clever boy, in purple frock coat and bow-tie, stared at her queerly from across a dreamland console room—though not his, it was that of his silver regeneration. Clara couldn't help but check the armchair by the chalkboard. It was empty.

Her disappointment was tempered by that beautifully awkward visage she once knew so well. Her heart fluttered as a smirk slid into place above that bow-tie, a reminder of the automated forge of devilish and devious ideas that endlessly churned inside him. The brain of a super-genius was currently dedicated to the perversion of one Clara Oswald. The Doctor pushed off the railing and stalked around the console towards Clara.

As much as she missed that dear face, it was jolting to see it again. Clara had gotten used to the gruff man with the wooly eyebrows. She was frozen in place as much by indecision as anticipation. The Doctor's eyes gleamed with determination as he closed in on Clara. She took the smallest of steps backwards before he reached out to stroke her cheek.

Her anxiety began to melt away as he pushed a hand into her hair, knotting it around his fingers as he pulled her in for a kiss. Somehow his kisses felt foreign to Clara, like those of a new lover. Was this how they'd always felt? The further she delved into her memory, the more familiar it became – cool Gallifreyan lips upon hers, tongue demanding; the small, passionate moans drawn from the back of both their throats.

The Doctor pushed Clara back into the console, their lips cemented together. His erection pressed into her belly. She slid her hands up his velvet lapels to wrap around his neck. It felt real, so real. But why would it have to _feel_ real if it actually _was_ real? The curious thought caused Clara to break from the kiss. Though the Doctor did not release his grip on her chestnut locks, he allowed her enough room to peer into his eyes as they panted at each other.

"How are you even here?" she breathed. "Why?"

The Doctor's green eyes remained dark, though they narrowed in puzzlement. He toyed with a strand of Clara's silky hair as he studied her. "Is this not what you've wanted?"

Clara squinted at every minute detail upon that dear face. It seemed more handsome, more devious, more kindly, more masculine than before. In fact, he looked more himself than he ever had—green eyes sparkling, fringe waving, chin jutting. Almost like a caricature.

"It was," she said, quickly adding, "It is, but..."

Clara's eye was drawn to the top of the stairs once again. The Doctor followed her gaze to the vacant armchair. It didn't take long for his brilliant mind to connect the dots—his younger self had been notorious for piecing together Clara's wants and needs long before she did.

The Doctor's gaze gradually traveled back to her own. He was positively gobsmacked, eyes wide and jaw hung loose.

"That me? Really!" He shook his head in amazement. How had he not seen this before?

Clara stared at him quizzically. The Doctor stroked his chin in thought, eyes downcast.

"I suppose it was stunningly obvious. A more mature man makes a galaxy of sense for you." After everything he'd put her through, everything she'd done for him, it was only right. Disdainfully he yanked his hand from his chin and shook it as if he'd just touched a slime-pellant of Neroxious XII.

"Ah," spat a rough brogue. "But you're Mr. Fun,"

Like a double-act, Clara and the Doctor's heads snapped in unison towards the voice at the top of the stairs. There they found the older man brooding from behind his armchair. His eyebrows furrowed viciously as he leaned his palms on the back of the seat.

"That's what she really needs: a romp across time and space," the Doctor continued. He moved around the chair to stand at the top of the stairs, hands wedged defiantly in his pockets. "Not a cantankerous campaign across the cosmos."

Oh my stars, Clara thought as she pieced it together. She'd appreciated that deviant smirk on the younger Doctor more times than she could count, but she'd only seen it on his new face in her dreams.

They watched as Clara gawped and backed into the handrail. This only caused the Cheshire Cat grins to widen as they looked to each other once again.

"May I?" said the young one.

"Oh please, be my guest," the older one said with a flourish. The young one gave a genteel nod of thanks.

Suddenly they were best mates, Clara thought with a gulp. She knew she had it coming, and not knowing exactly what "it" was caused her heart to hammer.

Faster than an unwatched Weeping Angel, the young man whisked Clara up over his shoulder. She yipped in surprise as he tromped up the stairs with her. Clara's dangling hair obscured her vision. At the top the young Doctor excitedly swept the contents of the small desk onto the floor. Pencils clattered and rolled, papers flew. He'd always wanted to do that.

The older Doctor frowned. "Was that absolutely necessary?"

"I'm going to assume that was rhetorical," the younger man said and plopped Clara down prone on the desktop. He took the hem of Clara's modest little dress in hand. The silver regeneration barely registered the comment, eyes now intent as the waistband of her red tights was revealed. Then her belly. Then the lace of her black bra. He was entranced by Clara's gorgeous breasts as they rose and fell, her breathing coming more quickly.

With one hand the young Doctor caressed her hair before grabbing a handful of it and directing her attention to his face. Arms crossed, the older man stared from a few feet away, enthralled by the scene but unsure of his place in it all. He could smell Clara's arousal. Briefly he wondered if he could have a Clara-scented candle made up. For the lonely nights.

"You remember your words, I trust?" the young man asked.

Clara nodded quickly, eyes glittering with anticipation. It was not the answer he'd been looking for. The Doctor held still, waiting. He cleared his throat expectantly.

"Y-yes, Doctor, I remember my words," Clara finally said, voice breathy.

The older Doctor watched with delight as the crotch of her red tights turned a dark maroon where a damp patch developed. She had always loved it when he gave her no quarter.

The younger Doctor seemed satisfied. Without another word he yanked her dress up over her head but did not remove it. Her mouth and nose peeked out but her eyes remained covered and the garment effectively bound her arms above her head. He grinned at his handiwork and crooked a finger at the other Doctor. The older man approached. He looked to his former face earnestly. The younger Doctor motioned hospitably over Clara like a buffet dinner.

Clara heard movement but couldn't see through the thick fabric of her dress. Licking her lips, she craned her head towards the sounds. Soon she felt a hand slide under her back, urging her to sit up. Clara acquiesced and the hand caressed her soft skin. This was not her bowtied boyfriend's touch. She gasped at the revelation as goosebumps marched across her body.

The older Doctor had simply intended to divest his lovely companion of her bra, but her charming intake of breath as his hand explored her back sent a shiver all the way down his spine to the tip of his already hardening cock. He paused, awestruck that he still had this effect on her. Leaning over Clara he hesitated before tentatively kissing those inviting cherry red lips. She opened to him immediately, allowing him to slide his tongue against her own. Clara inhaled deeply through her nose before sighing into his mouth. Though his body was different, his scent had not changed at all. At the same time it returned to the Doctor how much the passionate noises she made inflamed him. He began to kiss her more fervently as his cock rose fully to attention inside his trousers. His other hand skated around her back and unhooked her bra. He disentangled his tongue as he slid the straps up as far as her bound arms would allow. It was his turn to groan—her nipples were as rosy as ever and already stiff.

The young Doctor observed the proceedings with a smirk but was distracted by a small hole in the thigh of Clara's tights. She squeaked as he poked his finger into it. This pleased him and he wormed his finger in further as she squirmed. The older Doctor looked over his shoulder just in time to see the bow-tied boy slowly ripping the sheer fabric, exposing the flesh of her muscular thigh. The younger man became more vehement and soon he'd torn off one entire leg of Clara's tights.

"I hope you weren't too attached to those," he said smugly. Before she could reply he'd yanked them off along with her knickers all in one fell swoop. The older Doctor blinked. Subtlety had not been his style back then. He walked around the desk behind Clara's head and tugged the dress off of her face and arms. He needed to see those big brown eyes—and just as he'd hoped, they were full of longing and lust. Clara's heels were on the edge of the desk as he moved for a view of her glorious pussy. Both Doctors appreciated her "kitty" as it glistened in the noir lighting, almost as much as she appreciated both of them staring at her. Her cheeks turned as red as her shredded tights with the attention. How was this even possible? she wondered. It was more than she ever could have hoped for.

"Yes," she sighed. "Oh yes."

The older Doctor slowly reached out for her pussy with two lithe fingers, watching the hunger on her face. She moaned and threw her head back as he made contact with her sopping folds. He contained a growl and closed his eyes. That's right. This is what heaven feels like. He began to lose himself in Clara's slippery feel, Clara's scent, Clara's—

A loud "thump" jolted he and his impossible girl from their sensual reverie.

oOo

The hardback slid off Clara's relaxed knees and onto the floor. As it struck the mahogany floorboards she and the Doctor's eyes popped open.

Clara jerked her head up from his shoulder. There was practically a puddle on leather couch beneath her bum.

The Doctor yanked back his arm from around her. An enormous erection tented his trousers.

Four eyes wide, they stared at each other until Clara blushed crimson and looked away. She shook her foggy head.

The Doctor grimaced. This could be bad. This could be very, very bad. This is why he'd never once fallen asleep next to Clara; he kept their minds untangled with relative ease when both of them were conscious. His last incarnation had spent countless eight-hour chunks wrapped around Clara's limp but luscious form, solving the problems of the universe in his head as she slept—fortunately for him, his Gallifreyan anatomy required less rest than she did. But a prolonged period of unconsciousness for them both, most especially coupled with physical contact—in that case the Doctor had had no idea what would happen. Until tonight.

"What... what was that?" Clara whispered. Embarrassed, she couldn't bring herself to make eye contact.

The Doctor cleared his throat. "Remember when you asked me if I was a telepath?"

She'd asked him so many questions that he'd evaded over the years. Clara wracked her brain for the memory.

"It was the first time I... hypnotized you," the Doctor continued. Though he wasn't proud that he'd used it as a diversionary tactic, he still recalled the scene with fondness. His cock had begun to soften with the tension in the room, but it gave an appreciative little throb at the recollection. A sly smile crept onto his lips. "I made you believe your hands were glued to the bannister in the console room and that the TARDIS engines were going to make you-"

"I remember!" Clara cut in. She was distraught, still trying to suss this situation out. She would not be distracted by the Ghost of Sexytime Past; it was too painful. She'd been led to believe there was no way this face could be interested in sticking itself places the last face had so enjoyed. A spark of hope glowed inside Clara, but she was poised to douse it at any moment.

"And?" she prompted gently. Her eyes flicked over to the Doctor.

"Well..." the Doctor said. "I am."

Gradually Clara turned her head to look up at him. "Telepathic."

The Doctor nodded.

"Okay. And..." she prompted again.

"And..." the Doctor repeated. The attack eyebrows were disarmed, raised in supplication that Clara would piece it all together, wouldn't make him say it out loud.

"And..." Clara finally hypothesized, "you and your former self were just mind-fucking me while I slept." She sounded vaguely annoyed but not angry.

The Doctor sucked in air through his wolfish teeth before answering. "Sort of."

Clara gave the Doctor the school-teacher stare that left room for nothing but his full and complete compliance.

"Well to start, it was all me. You know—me, the Doctor, Timelord, regeneration abilities. Many faces, one man." He sighed. "Maybe one day I'll stop having to be jealous of myself." It had been the same with Peri.

Clara opened her mouth for rebuttal but the Doctor cut her off.

"Also, both of us were asleep or it never would have happened. That... that was my mistake. I do apologize. Your consent has always been extremely important to me, hence the lack of, uh... you know."

"But... but you had my consent!" Clara countered.

"No, the bow tie had your consent, not me," the Doctor said, waving a finger at his face. "That seemed an important distinction to you." His eyes were melted sadness.

Clara closed her lids and began breathing deeply. She couldn't look at him while she processed this. The Doctor watched her carefully, warily, waiting for her to lash out or run away.

Finally her doe eyes popped open again.

"Doctor," she said.

"Yes?"

She looked at him gravely. "I want there to be no mistake about this, no question."

He nodded, already wincing at the pain to be inflicted. "Yes...?"

"You have my consent. Always." Clara reached out and placed her hot little hand on his long, cool fingers. "And if that changes, I know the word to say." That saucy smirk of hers reemerged like the sun from behind the clouds.

The Doctor's relief quickly merged into nigh unmanageable lust. The glimmer in her eye was reflected in his own. The leather couch creaked as he shifted closer to Clara.

"Does it feel different?" she said, leaning towards him.

"Hmm?"

"In this body. Do... things feel different?" Clara ran her hand up his thigh, smirk widening.

The Doctor's attack eyebrows were loaded once again. He cocked one and gave Clara a dangerous look that topped off the puddle beneath her. Her heart raced as he stared at her.

Suddenly the Doctor flipped Clara over on her belly. Her breasts were crushed into the leather below. With a knee between her thighs, his trouser leg soaked up her juices. The Doctor held one of Clara's arms behind her back. It didn't hurt—but it could have. She was essentially immobilized. The Doctor chuckled with satisfaction.

"I guess you'll just have to find out, won't you Clara Oswald?"

Suddenly the Doctor flipped Clara over on her belly. Her breasts were crushed into the leather below. His knee between her thighs, trouser leg soaking up her juices, the Doctor held one of Clara's arms behind her back. It didn't hurt—but it could have. She was essentially immobilized. The Doctor chuckled with satisfaction.

"I guess you'll just have to find out, won't you Clara Oswald?"

He leaned in to smell the vanilla of Clara's hair—oh, how he'd missed the permission to snort her like a line of stardust—and in the process pressed his rock-hard cock against her bum.

It was so primal when the Doctor allowed his nose and his hard-on to do the thinking. It made her especially wet, that she could reduce this intellectual demigod to an animal. She pushed back against him.

"Is that a sonic screwdriver in your pocket...?" Clara purred

"Yes. And I am happy to see you," the Doctor finished.

He shifted, half standing, to the side of the couch and pinned Clara's hand to the small of her back with his knee. With one cheek smashed into the cushion, Clara's intense eyes drilled into him from below, impudently implying: _this had better be good_. She knew the Doctor always did love a challenge.

He reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out the sonic.

"As I'm sure you're aware, it works on everything but wood," he said, smirking down at Clara.

"I'm confident I can fill in the gap there," Clara said.

"We'll just see who fills what gaps tonight."

The Doctor pressed his knee down harder on Clara's hand and back. She groaned at the pressure—and the reminder of who was on top.

He flipped up the skirt of Clara's little black dress. There was only a brief moment of guilt when the Doctor realized he already knew what her black knickers looked like through those sheer red tights—he'd seen them earlier, when their minds had intertwined. The Doctor shook it off and pointed the sonic at her nether regions.

Clara watched as best she could from her captive position. She had often wondered what the sonic screwdriver could do to her delicate human bits. Confidence was plastered across the Doctor's face. Clara held her breath in anticipation.

"It's got a program just for you," the Doctor said.

"Does it now?" Clara huffed.

"Yes, of course it does," he scoffed. "Set phasers to 'Clara.'"

She was chuckling in mild frustration when the Doctor finally activated the screwdriver. The familiar, high-pitched "reoor-reoor-reoor" hit her eardrums as the tingling sensation hit her clitoris. Clara let out a grunt and clamped her thighs together. This only served to intensify the feeling.

The sound of the sonic changed subtly—apparently he'd programmed more than one Clara setting—and suddenly it was like her clit was being massaged from the inside. She squirmed beneath the Doctor's weight, nipples chafing between the couch and the lace of her bra. Eyes closed, Clara had just begun to work up a steady rhythm with her hips when the sonic stopped. She groaned her disapproval as the Doctor removed his knee, releasing her.

"Turn over," he said.

Though she eyed him like an insolent child, Clara complied, flipping over onto her back.

"Take those off." The Doctor waved the sonic at Clara's tights. She wiggled out of them. "Your sassy pants too," he said as she wrested her knickers from her body.

The Doctor sauntered over to a small amplifier he'd picked up at a secondhand shop in London, 1971. He'd modified it, of course, but had said there was nothing in the universe like the sound of tube amp. His "axe" leaned against it. There was a music conservatory on the TARDIS but the Doctor preferred to perform for his legion of dusty books.

Clara sat up, unconsciously pressing a hand to her throbbing clit. She watched curiously as the Doctor picked up the guitar and threw the strap around his neck. She loved to hear him play, but it seemed like strange timing. The Doctor inserted the sonic screwdriver into a special port he'd mounted atop the amplifier. When he flipped the amp's on-switch, the library filled with an electric hum. The strings clinked as the Doctor pulled the pick from between them.

Again Clara felt a tingling between her legs. The Doctor turned towards her, stance wide. It was like his guitar gave him super powers, as if he needed any. Nothing could stand in the way of the Timelord rock star. The Doctor bared his teeth and strummed a single, distortion-filled chord.

Clara shuddered from head to toe as it resounded from the bookshelves and impossibly high ceilings. Her full lips formed an 'O' of surprise. The Doctor sneered with satisfaction.

"Playable tech," the Doctor proclaimed. "With a 'Clara' setting."

He perched the pick on the top string, ready to strum again. "Sit cross-legged," he told her.

Clara frowned at the embarrassing noises the leather made as she scooted her damp bum back on the couch. She rearranged her legs so her knees poked out to either side—leaving her pussy completely exposed to the Doctor's view beneath the short dress. He pursed his lips and looked from Clara's cunt up to her eyes. He nodded his approval and plucked one of the strings.

The current that ran through her gave new meaning to the term "electric guitar"-as if all 60 watts pinpointed right on her clit, then rippled in pleasurable sound waves throughout her body.

The Doctor picked out a few more long notes, bending the strings as he watched her with explicit interest. The feeling was incredible. Unconsciously Clara did a little dance of titillation from her spot on the couch as her breath quickened. The Doctor paused. The silence was thunderous.

Clara pouted. He was holding back, teasing her, just like the old days,. She knew he was a top-notch musician and an expert tinkerer. The sparklers in her stomach seared with prescience at what fireworks would explode when he combined the two.

The Doctor began to tap out a moderate rhythm with his boot. Hand raised above the strings, he flashed Clara a dark grin. Suddenly he was strumming incessantly to the beat, up-down, up-down, up-down. Clara felt more than heard that sinister set of chords. The sensation was like sitting under a waterfall—her whole body was weighted down by the feeling. It pushed her into the cushions of the couch, head thrown back.

Amongst the chords, he began to twang a string here, pop a note there. Every sound moved Clara in a different way, wailed and purred at places she hadn't even known had nerve endings. She gasped for breath, unable to think. Clara writhed. The Doctor played her body as he harshly fingered his instrument.

There wasn't even time to ask permission to come—Clara's orgasm was ripped from her mercilessly, like a vicious riff. She screamed involuntarily along to his song. To the Doctor, it was the most beautiful sound in the universe. He reveled in it, winding the song down with a few last jabs that jerked Clara's slackening body. He'd save the "big finish" for later. The Doctor set down the guitar and flipped the amplifier's switch. Panting, Clara slumped over on the couch surrounded by the warm, gentle hum of the TARDIS.

A moment later, the cushion next to her head sagged with the Doctor's weight. She pried open heavy lids to look up at him. Wonderment met wonderment. He caressed the hair back from her damp forehead. Clara's mind was a blank. Having made it so gratified the Doctor. He smiled down at her.

It didn't take long for ideas to float back into the head of his impossible girl, though they seemed singularly focused. She sat up and pulled the little black dress up—as she yanked it over her eyes she vaguely remembered two Doctors hovering over her. With a dreamy smile, she gracefully unhooked and slid off her black bra.

Clara slithered her naked body off the couch and onto the floor between the Doctor's legs. Rare was the time she cared to serve, but the spirit of his song had moved more than just her hips. Slowly she pushed up his trouser legs. Unlacing his boots and gently popping them off his feet, Clara placed them carefully underneath the couch. The Doctor beamed approvingly down at her. In their sordid past he'd never demanded this behavior from her, and so cherished these infrequent instances all the more.

He leaned forward to stroke her mussed hair. When Clara gently pushed at his chest, he allowed it, sitting back. She pulled off his socks and tucked them neatly into his boots. Her eyes were tender.

The Doctor hadn't sound-fucked the spirit from her, though. She crooked her finger to run a sensibly-trimmed nail along the sole of his foot. The Doctor chuckled, as much from the gesture as the ticklish sensation. Species from all of time and space had offered to be his doormat. It had never been his style.

Clara deposited delicate kisses upon his feet and ankles. She pushed her hands beneath his trouser cuffs and lightly raked her nails down the Doctor's calves. A demure but playful look graced Clara's cherubic face. As she ran her hands up the outside of his trousers, past his knees, to his thighs and down again, the embers flared back to life in the Doctor's eyes. Clara loved to see tenderness on that worlds-weary face. The passion only enhanced it.

At the speed of creeping ivy, Clara's dainty fingers meandered upwards once again from the Doctor's ankles. When she finally reached the apex of his inseams, Clara watched as the Doctor became conscious of his own breathing, chest moving up and down with deliberate regularity. And people thought that _she_ was a control freak. Well maybe she was—but they were well-matched in many regards.

Clara tugged on the zip of his fly in askance. The Doctor granted permission with the slightest of amused nods. Fly and button neutralized. Clara reached inside the Doctor's trousers like she was claiming the prize at the bottom of a cereal box. She licked her lips as she pulled it out. The Doctor's sparkling blue eyes were intent upon Clara as she scrutinized his half-hardened cock. It was different now—of course it was. The rest of his outward appearance had changed, why should his cock remain the same? It wasn't the tuna-tin-width of his last incarnation; now it was thinner but longer. That was going to make her next move easier and harder all at the same time.

Inspection complete, Clara flashed the Doctor a devious grin and wrapped her beautiful lips around his cock. It rose instantly to full mast. His eyes rolled back and he allowed an "mmph" to escape him as Clara's mahogany head pistoned slowly over his lap. The Doctor had wondered if that was natural talent or a practiced skill—ultimately he suspected it was a little of both. A lot of both. She gave damned good head, especially for a human.

Clara worked her lips further and further down the Doctor's cock. Finally she rested around the base, the Doctor's pubic hair tickling her nose. Flicking her big brown eyes up to him, Clara gave a hum that was half adoration, half "ta-da!" The Doctor grunted approvingly at her impressive feat and caressed her hair with both hands.

"My impossible show-off," he sighed.

Clara winked. He wanted to see showing off, did he? Suddenly Clara's head bobbed swiftly up and down. Her tongue swirled around his cock like she was trying to reach the nougaty centre.

The Doctor inhaled sharply. He gathered up Clara's hair in his hands. She frowned but kept at her work. He hadn't hindered her movement yet, but it was only a matter of time. If the Doctor would just let her pleasure him, she'd give him the orgasm of a lifetime—hell, of twelve lifetimes! But no; he gripped her locks and slowed her movements.

If she hadn't been so turned on from the Doctor bossing her about by the follicles, she'd have been put out. Instead she was reminded of the wet warmth between her thighs. Soon he held her head still, pumping his long cock in and out of her delicious mouth.

Clara moaned, annoyance forgotten—in this moment she was simply pleased that the Doctor would still use her. The sensation caused the Doctor to moan along with Clara—he was so relieved she still wanted him to use her. He fucked her face with gusto, lifting his hips off the couch to meet her mouth. When he saw Clara glide a hand down to rub her own naughty bits, the Doctor almost shot his load right then. Instead he yanked her head off his cock.

They stared at one another, flushed and panting. The Doctor replaced Clara's hand with his own. Her body moved towards him of its own volition, welcoming his fingers as they meandered slickly along.

"Get up," the Doctor commanded hoarsely. With two digits shoved inside her like a puppet, he directed Clara to face the back of the couch. Her knees stuck to the leather and her arms rested on the back of the sofa.

He moved his fingers out of Clara and into his own mouth, decadently sucking up the flavor of her pussy. The Doctor removed his jacket and laid it over a chair but left on his white button-up. Clara felt the scratch of his unfastened trousers against her arse as he leaned into her. Grabbing his painfully hard cock, the Doctor rubbed the head mercilessly against Clara's pussy. Her tits danced as she mewled against him. This was one of her favorite ways to be tortured—but it was called _torture_ , after all.

Clara was so wet that with all of her squirming he almost slid into her by accident. But the Doctor never did anything by accident—nothing he let on about, anyway. Clara knew it was quite deliberate when he finally paused, poised, then jammed his cock into her pussy.

Gradually the Doctor sunk deeper and deeper into her with each push. He knew exactly what she wanted: hard and fast and now, please, now! Of course he wasn't going to give it to her. Not just yet, anyhow. He was gentle, oh so gentle, slipping his cock out all the way before languidly easing it back in. She began to nudge her arse back to meet his thrusts, to encourage speed and that divine, wanton friction. The Doctor curled his lip and steadied Clara with two handfuls of her hips.

"Now, now, young lady. We've all the time in the universe."

He shifted his cock millimeter by millimeter. The lack of motion was driving her mad. Clara huffed an exasperated sigh, turning her head to pout back at the Doctor. It had never worked before, but it was worth a try.

"Oh, my poor, long-suffering Clara," he said, patting her on the bum sympathetically. "Do you have something else you'd rather be doing? Grading papers or eating chips or watering your pet cactus?"

Clara shook her head vehemently, afraid to call his bluff. The Doctor became motionless altogether. Waiting for the right answer. Apparently this was also still a thing he did.

"No, Doctor," she declared finally. "There's nowhere I'd rather be than at the end of your cock!"

"Good girl."

The Doctor's grip tightened on Clara's hips as he shoved his cock into her savagely. She gasped with surprise and delight as he began to shag her senseless. She had to grasp the back of the couch to keep her balance. Her tits bounced against the sofa and each other like fruit jostled on the way to market.

The Doctor reached out and grabbed a fistful of Clara's hair. That almost put her over the edge. Her pussy flooded again. The wet, slapping noises resounded off the bookcases. The intensity had built to fever pitch inside of her.

"Please, Doctor, please?" Clara appealed between cries of pleasure. The Doctor replied by pounding her harder.

"Please!" she gasped, "Pretty please may I?"

The Doctor suddenly yanked his cock out of Clara and threw her face-up on the couch. She gawped as her empty pussy gaped.

"So greedy!" The Doctor scolded. "Don't you want to save at least a few orgasms for somebody else?"

Clara found herself vigorously shaking her head once again.

"No Doctor," she said, "they are all for you!"

He smiled down at her. "Good answer, Clara Oswald." The Doctor began to unbutton his shirt. "I'll say this for you... you do know how to work the system."

He folded his shirt in half and placed it over his jacket. Shucking his trousers and boxers, he laid them neatly over the chair as well. Clara couldn't tell if he was being OCD or a tease. Probably both, knowing him. Her pussy ached. She wanted to shout, "Hurry up!" but reined herself in—he'd only draw the process out further if she made an outburst like that. Her sweaty back slurped at the leather cushion beneath her as she attempted meditative breathing, nose wrinkled and lids screwed shut.

A cool finger on her clit was a welcome interruption of her steady respiration. Clara hummed in reverence as her eyes popped open.

The Doctor's lean, naked figure was bent over her. She'd never seen this incarnation without his kit on and couldn't help but examine him. His chest was covered in a black and silver fur that trailed down to his still-stiff cock. Yes, he was thin, but surprisingly toned for his apparent age.

Clara ran an admiring hand from the Doctor's protruding hipbone down his rangy thigh. He worked her clit more energetically in answer. Clara licked her palm and grabbed his cock, reconstituting her juices on him as she stroked. They both stared at each other, fondling and muffling groans. When the Doctor climbed between Clara's legs, urging her further towards the end of the sofa to accommodate his lanky frame, she sighed in relief—this was not to be another battle of wills.

The Doctor must have been feeling impatient, as he only teased her entrance for a moment before shoving himself inside.

His eyes were intense as he peered into Clara's like they were crystal balls. It was as if he saw everything about her—every secret, every past, every future. Even if Clara could have torn her gaze away, she knew he'd have commanded her to look at him again. And with the disarming tempo and depth he'd purposely chosen, the last thing Clara wanted to do at this moment was displease him. She ran her fingers through his curly hair and carved pink tracks down his arms and shoulders. She moaned with every stroke. She hoisted her hips up to meet his thrusts. But she did not break eye contact.

Finally Clara wrapped her arm around the Doctor's neck and crashed her lips into his. Immediately he was teeth and deep tongue, overthrowing the sovereignty of her mouth once again. He dropped down to his forearms for better access. His weight crushed her in just the right way. Clara hadn't thought it possible but the angle of his thrusts changed for the better. She squalled into his mouth.

Clara began to feel lightheaded from the rush of blood to her nether parts and the lack of oxygen from the kiss. The Doctor broke away, staring at her once again. Clara was delirious with passion at the end of his relentless cock. Though pinned under the blue battering rams he called eyeballs, she managed to scrape together the words.

"Fuck my head, Doctor," she whispered hoarsely. "Please!"

The Doctor's lips parted in awe. After his non-consensual conduct earlier, he never expected to be invited into Clara Oswald's resplendent mind again. He searched her eyes for signs of doubt but found nothing but fierce audacity. Taking a deep breath, the Doctor lowered his lips to hers again. His thrusts slowed but remained deep and fervent. Clara's lids sunk shut as she melted into the kiss...

"That's more like it," came an oh-so-familiar voice from above them.

Clara's jaw dropped when she saw her bow-tied beau standing smugly a few feet away in shirtsleeves and braces. The other Doctor looked less surprised at the visitor, intently watching the mixture of delight, confusion and astonishment on Clara's face.

The younger man unzipped his fly and pulled his cock out with a smirk.

"Don't mind me," he said. Then he wrinkled his forehead and waved a finger a Clara. "Well you, you should mind me. Him. Us. Blimey! Oh, shut up."

Before Clara could point out that she hadn't said anything, he crammed his tuna-tin-width cock into Clara's little mouth, leaning a knee on the cushion for support. She gave a little "mmph" of surprise. Soon the musky, alien smell of him had Clara polishing his pole with her tongue in earnest.

The older Doctor was intrigued, seeing this from the outside. Well, as much from the outside as one could be whilst having a cock lodged inside the observed party. As he began to propel himself into Clara's pussy to the rhythm of her swaying tresses, the song "Harmony in my Head" popped into someone's mind. Clara thought it was probably the Doctor's—the older Doctor's... but further contemplation was impossible with the skewering she received from either end.

The younger Doctor caressed Clara's cheek as it hollowed with the suction. The slurping noises from her mouth and pussy were positively lascivious. The young man shimmied out of his braces, almost losing balance from his precarious, bent-knee position.

"You may be surprised to hear this from an hallucinatory projection, but my legs are cramping. Let's move to a more advantageous position, shall we?"

He rammed his cock to the back of Clara's throat with a glimmer in his eye before yanking it out with a pop. The older Doctor pulled his shaft out of Clara's sopping pussy just long enough to flip her over onto her knees, her hands on the armrest for support. He drove back into her as the younger Doctor grabbed a handful of Clara's silky, dark hair. From a comfortable stance at the end of the couch, he pushed her ruby lips down around his cock.

Once he'd guided her to a tempo that put a wide smile upon his face, he jerked at his shirt front. Clara squeezed her eyes shut to protect them from the flying buttons. Keeping her pace, she looked up to find his green eyes enthusiastic—it'd been literally _ages_ since he'd been able to do that! He peeled the shirt off his lovely smooth chest and discarded it on it floor. He chuckled as the Doctor ramming into Clara from behind frowned at the carelessness.

A concentration came across the trio as paces were matched once again. Clara's hips rocked in blissful time to the Doctor at either end, as they slid in contrasting unison. While the Timelord could come on command, he could also shag for eons. Perhaps literally.

Conversely, under the Doctors' ministrations Clara's orgasmic agenda was completely under their control. That fluttering insanity began to build inside her belly and thighs. She was no match for a genius with an intimate knowledge of her outer _and_ inner workings, never mind two of them. The older Doctor's cock hit resistance at Clara's cervix with every stroke. The younger Doctor reached down to clamp his fingers around her nipple, twisting hard.

The two men made eye contact and nodded. They would give Clara her favorite thing, times two. Groans and moans left their throats as they proceeded to pump her welcoming mouth and cunt full. Clara's screams were muffled by the younger man's cock as her pussy spasmed endlessly around its counterpart. The older Doctor supported her from behind lest she fall. The Doctors looked at each other again with congratulatory smirks. This was something they could agree on, at least.

Clara swallowed and slumped forward on the couch as the older Doctor sat back. She would have liked to put her head in his lap but physics were not on her side. He patted her rump as she rested her cheek on the armrest.

The younger Doctor lovingly pushed Clara's hair off her sweaty forehead. It felt comfortingly—and disconcertingly—like when her new Doctor had done so during their alone time earlier.

The younger man's attention wandered to the décor of the library. "You've redecorated," he said. The older man waited for the censure to begin.

"I like it. Especially the fireplace. The antlers over the mantel are a bit much but... it works."

There were two leather armchairs by the roaring flames. Between them lay a white bearskin rug.

"The rug must be ace to shag on," the young man said wistfully.

The older man thought he'd misheard for a moment before catching the young man's meaning. He worked his eyebrows in an attempt to look un-sheepish. Certainly he'd considered it. Perhaps that was even why he'd had the TARDIS add the rug in the first place. The young man caught the drift.

"You have a bearskin rug by the fireplace and you've never compromised Clara's virtue on it?" the younger Doctor asked in disbelief. He shook his head. "This is what's in store for me."

One moment the Doctor was clucking at the codger he'd become, the next he was heaving Clara over his shoulder again and hauling her towards the fireplace, braces flapping at his thighs.

Clara loved to hate it when he carried her about. "I am perfectly capable of walking!" she squealed.

"Oh, we aim to fix that," the young man replied, half dropping her on the thick white fur. His grin was toothy. "Miss me?"

Clara's gaze flicked to one Doctor, then the other. "Is that a trick question?" she laughed nervously, apprehensively running her hand through the plush tufts below her.

The older Doctor wandered over to stand behind an armchair. Just to lean on it, cool and casual, not to cover his nudity from Clara, of course. It definitely did not make him uncomfortable to be compared to his svelter former self. Nope, not even a wee iota.

"Now, why would we ever want to trick someone like you?" The young man patted her on the head in his condescending way. He knew it drove Clara mad. That was when her mouth tended to get her in the best kinds of trouble.

The older man didn't realize he was ready to bait Clara as well until she threw him a look of anxious hope to see if he would. The glimmer returned to his eye. "So, did you miss him?"

Clara's relief that he was on board with this game was tempered by her predicament. There would be no right answer to this question, and from their expressions the two men delighted in it. The features of this dream were devious and perverted.

Clara decided she'd best answer before the buzzer sounded. She cleared her throat, eyes flicking to both Doctors.

"No."

The older Doctor chuckled and shot a look at his younger self. That ample jaw dropped in exaggerated offense.

Despite the butterflies in her stomach, Clara stayed firm. "Well? You've been right here the whole time!" She motioned to the older man. "You said so when you phoned."

"Ah, but you dreamt of _me,_ not him," the younger Doctor said.

This cut a little close to home for the older man. But it was the truth—and his own psyche saying so.

Clara glanced at the older man. He kept his face a mask of amusement.

"A-at first, yes," Clara said. In this session she'd already been put through many hoops—which in the fray she'd forgotten were of the mental variety—and the exertion caused her nerve to slip. The four eyeballs drilling into her were actually more to bear than their two cocks had been.

"But that changed," she finished.

"So you forgot me, then." The younger man made it a statement. His devilish smirk deepened with every shovelful of dirt Clara scooped out of her metaphorical hole. "Thrown aside completely for an older man." He waved a hand towards his silver self.

"No!" Clara said. She knew this was a game, but her exasperation mounted. It all cut close to home for her as well. She sighed.

"Anyhow, it wasn't like you were coming back," she mumbled to the bearskin rug.

The younger Doctor, clad only in his trousers, sauntered to loom over Clara. She allowed her gaze to rake up his lean form as his smooth chest shone in the firelight. In that moment she resisted the urge to grab his loose braces and dispense with his trousers. The sentiment must have scrolled across her face—she'd always been like a large-print reference book to him. The Doctor reached down and ruffled her hair affectionately.

"But you just said I was here all along." The young man's voice dropped an octave. "I told you when I phoned, remember?"

Clara's lovely brains were already leaking out of her lovely ears from the intellectual workout; when the young Doctor tugged on a fistful of her hair, that spigot was opened inexorably wide. He saw Clara's good sense flow out of her entirely as her beautiful, wide brown eyes glazed over.

Fortunately the instinct to reply was deeply engrained in Clara.

"I remember," she sighed. "I dreamt you both up here, didn't I?"

The two Doctors raised eyebrows and wrinkled foreheads at one another, then shrugged.

"Possibly," the young man said. "That does make this the perfect opportunity to answer your own question. I know I'm simply dying to hear the answer, myself." He wiggled his finger at himself and the older man.

"Which question?" Clara asked.

"I believe you asked whether things felt different in this body," the young man replied. She gasped as he tightened his grip on her hair. It was hard to tell if it was her juices or the Doctor's come that streaked her thighs and dampened the rug below.

"You've had a little sample of Doctor 12.0," he said. "So, does it?"

Clara's mind raced. She hadn't really been paying attention to that aspect of things while his older self had shagged her silly.

"I... I don't know... Maybe?" she said with a cringe. Those were the Doctor's two least favorite answers to any question.

The young man looked to his counterpart, who still stood behind the armchair. "She doesn't seem sure," the bow-tied one said, wiggling his eyebrows gratuitously. He released Clara's mane. "Perhaps you'd best give her another basis for comparison."

The older Doctor's expression had slackened as he'd watched the proceedings. He'd once been so good at verbal sparring—he saw now that it had been more of a passion than a hobby. These days he was more into spirited monologues. But enough of all that! There was... work to be done? Fun to be had?

Things. Clever things to implement cleverly. The Doctor pulled himself together for the same reason he had for centuries: for Clara. He drew himself up to his gangly full height and pushed his own nudity out of his thoughts.

"I've always been full of good ideas," he nodded to his other self. "But you don't think she's too pudding-brained after all this stimulation? She is only human, after all."

That shook Clara out of her reverie. "Oi!"

The older man smirked at her. Yep, he still had it.

"I think there's plenty more of her to be turned into pudding," the younger man replied.

The older Doctor rounded the armchair and sat down near the edge of the cushion. He stared at Clara.

"So young lady, I understand you're in need of a little contrast-and-comparison?"

"I..." she managed.

"Come here."

The older man patted his knee. Clara collected her naked bends and curves off the floor and prepared to sit on his lap.

"No," he chastised. "You've already had a study in that."

The Doctor flipped Clara over his knee. She cried out in surprise.

"Now, now, don't fret. There's plenty of time to repeat that experiment later. For the empirical evidence. But right this second I'd like to warm up another bit of your... memory."

His hand came down on Clara's perfect, round arse with a smacking sound that gave even the younger Doctor gooseflesh. She gasped. A perfect outline of the Doctor's hand was imprinted on her hindquarters. He rubbed at it sentimentally, as though thoughts of framing it to hang above the mantel passed through his mind.

With a sly smile, the younger man sat in the opposing easy chair to watch the show. He crossed his legs and stroked his chin. For these brief moments, all was right with the universe.

"Clara Oswald," the older man said, "some of the most scurrilous things have flown forth from that mouth of yours."

Clara peeked cheekily back at him. He may have taken her off-guard but she could take her licks. "You love my mouth."

As usual, the Doctors' cock throbbed to life at Clara's innuendo.

"That's beside the point," the older man replied. "The point is, I used to do this regularly, so the list of infractions was always relatively short. But it's been so long since I took you in hand," he squeezed her arse, "that I'm afraid you've accrued more tally marks than the servers at a Silence convention."

She didn't have time to retort before he administered three solid spanks in a row. She groaned as the pain muddled into pleasure.

"Now, if you'd perhaps like to apologize for all the shocking things you've said..."

Clara scoffed. "Apologize? Ha!"

Another three slaps, each more progressively solid than the last. Clara grunted with the force of each one. The hand prints were no longer distinguishable from each other.

"You're quite sure?"

Clara turned and poked her tongue out at the Doctor that held her captive.

He smiled magnanimously. "I was hoping you'd say that."

Without further ado he worked up a rhythm on her arse, striking precisely and evenly. Small noises came from Clara's throat as she began to squirm with each blow. As the pain built, Clara reflexively brought her hand behind her to block the next blow.

The older man ceased. Clara sighed in relief. She hoped he wasn't finished but it was nice to catch her breath.

"Doctor," the older man said. "This lippy imp seems to be having difficulty handling her comeuppance. Would you...?" Frankly he wasn't that keen on the younger man's assistance, but he knew it would serve to further arouse his Clara.

"But of course, Doctor," the young man chirped. "Our Clara is a slippery one." He rose from the chair, braces flapping, and strolled over.

The younger man knelt, face-to-face with Clara. "Hullo," he murmured. "I hear you've been very naughty. I'm glad to hear _that_ hasn't changed, at least."

Clara's heart hammered in her chest as she stared into those green eyes. He smiled reassuringly. She allowed him to collect her wrists in one hand without a struggle. The smile turned wicked as he leaned in.

"Now remember, dear, this is a contrast-and-compare experience. Do you remember all those times I... asserted myself with you?"

Clara nodded warily. The older Doctor shifted his legs beneath her belly, reminding Clara of his presence. Cautiously she glanced up. He wore his poker face–was that passion or jealousy she saw behind blue eyes? Clara's confusion nagged at her. She was grateful when the younger Doctor provided a distraction, even if it was just a finger pointed at her.

Clara furrowed her brow in puzzlement. As the young man's finger drew closer to her face it finally occurred to her what was happening. Mesmerized, her eyes crossed as she watched him bring the digit to her forehead. Clara gasped. With a loving smirk he said, "Boop," and tapped her on the third eye. Immediately her lids dropped shut and her head lolled. A trance within a trance.

The younger Doctor released her limp wrists and stroked her shoulder. "I want you to recall what it felt like, all those years ago. Will you do that for me?"

Clara didn't so much nod as gently wave her hair. It caressed the floorboards.

"Remember the force of my hand on that spectacular posterior of yours."

A small sound left Clara's throat as her brain scraped together the sensation.

"It used to make you so wet," he murmured. Clara's hips squirmed across the older Doctor's thigh.

"And I'd work you up to a fever pitch..." he continued as Clara mewled mindlessly and rocked her pelvis in time to an invisible force, "...until you were just begging me to-"

The older Doctor's eyebrows drew into a scowl. He wasn't going to let this scamp steal his thunder, former self or no. Without warning he scooped Clara up and pushed past the younger Doctor. Her glassy eyes blinked lazily as he laid her down on the bearskin rug. He ran a hand down her glorious breasts and tummy and hips and thighs, back up to her sensitive nub. Clara ground her pelvis into his hand, still in the throes of the trance.

"There's one thing in your world right now," the older man growled, "and that's me... inside of you..."

Though her attention had already been focused on the Doctor—both of them, in fact—her awareness further narrowed as he easily slipped two fingers into Clara's saturated cunt. At the Doctor's behest, there was no sensation but that sensation. She bent her knees to allow him better access. Insensible, Clara was completely deaf to the animalistic sounds that left her own throat. His cock at full mast, the Doctor worked her clit with his thumb, riling her up to a frenzy.

He shoved himself inside her. Clara gasped and thrashed with pleasure. The Doctor used that momentum to roll her on top. Hands on her hips, it didn't take much for him to guide her into a steady pace, her arse slapping his wiry thighs.

The younger Doctor played enthusiastic voyeur from his seat next to the armchair. He smiled lopsidedly at the scene, proud that his eventual self was finally acting with determination in the Clara department. But there was still a wistful longing in his eyes—when was the next time he'd be allowed to come out and play, if ever? Damned if he wasn't going to get another piece of Clara Oswald before this dream came to a conclusion. He stood, stripped off his trousers. Grinning, he dropped to his knees behind Clara, between his future incarnation's prostrate legs.

Clara's head flopped about like a rag doll's as she rode the older man's cock. Her hair billowed with every bounce. From his rear view, the younger man appreciated everything else that bounced along with her, too.

He was hard as a Weeping Angel as he crept closer. He placed a hand on the other man's convulsing thigh to steady himself. Instantly the intent was understood. The older Doctor would never admit that he approved of the idea, only that he felt almost sorry for the man he'd once been. The least he could do was let him go out with a bang.

The younger Doctor trailed his hand up Clara's slick spine to wind his fingers through her chestnut mane. He tightened his grip. Clara's own convolutions caused her to in essence yank her own hair. Her groans became more vehement. The older man flicked her clit, sending her over the edge once again. Clara howled at the ceiling as the walls of her cunt rewarded him with a deep tissue massage.

As her spasms subsided the young man put his mouth to her ear. The shivers down her spine retraced the path of his hand.

"Relax for us," he murmured.

She calmed immediately, felt floaty and fine as his words inexplicably soothed her sex-pummeled mind. Gently he guided Clara forward til her weight rested on her palms. The older man was now face-to-face with Clara. He looked from her ecstatic features, flushed and beatific, to his counterpart. The young Doctor flashed a knowing smile over Clara's shoulder and, despite himself, the older man mirrored the expression.

From who-knows-where the young man produced an amethyst jar—ah, the advantages of dreamland—and slathered a thick substance over his cock. A moan left Clara's ruby lips as he grasped his prick and rubbed it against her pussy.

Incidentally this meant his silver self's cock was also on the receiving end of this attention. The older man let out a grunt. Under normal circumstances it would have been hard to tell whether it was a sound of surprise or pleasure, but the shared mental connection assured everyone it was a little of both. It wasn't the first time the Doctor had had sexual contact with himself—he'd been so many flavors of perversion throughout his lives—but it was still startling how good it felt.

The younger man laid a hand on Clara's hip. In the real world she would have asked a lot of questions, tensed up, but in this shared fantasy, mind fucked to next Tuesday, she instead circled around the older man's cock in invitation.

At long last the younger Doctor began to press himself into the already crowded house of Clara's pussy. The older man pulled his own member out some as he slowly proceeded.

They'd thought Clara had been far-gone before, but as the second cockhead found purchase in her cunt, she completely lost autonomy. Her limbs slackened. Her head sank down to rest in the crook of the older Doctor's neck. She mewled helplessly.

"Clara...?" he whispered. The younger man paused.

She tried to speak. The older man tipped her chin up so he could see her oval face. Lids low, Clara's chocolate eyes barely found him. With a look she managed to convey the overpowering sensation of two men she loved sharing more than just her heart.

Finally she somehow made her mouth work. "Don't stop..." she mumbled and let her eyes droop shut.

The younger Doctor flashed more teeth than a Venetian vampire and grabbed Clara's other hip. In this position he was the only one that could really make any movements, so he slid slowly into Clara, piggybacking along the length of the other man. Clara was ready, so ready; her orgasms had been numerous and her stretched pussy repeatedly pumped full of the finest locally-sourced lubricant.

After a few minutes of gentle motion, the Doctors found themselves both balls-deep in their Impossible Girl. This was a new experience all-round. The young man paused again to let them all revel in the rapture, the immediacy, perhaps the most intimate experience any of them had ever encountered—it certainly was for Clara.

As she adjusted to the extra cock inside her, the younger man began thrusting slowly. The Doctor generally knew his own mind, but with the mental link the two men were able to act as one. The older Doctor pulled out a little with his past incarnation, before in unison they pushed deep inside Clara.

In a futile attempt to control the angle she struggled to brace herself up on her hands again—only to find that every possible angle left her full to bursting. She'd never felt anything like it in her life. Every pressure point and pleasure center possible below her waist was in overdrive. All she could do was lock her arms and trust in her Doctors. The older man stared up at his Clara as guttural moans began to emanate from her gaping mouth. She instinctively nuzzled into his hand as he caressed her cheek. As their thrusts became more vehement he wrapped his fingers around her thighs.

Clara screwed her eyes shut as her groans took shape: "Doctor... Doctor... Doctor..."

Her cunt gripped them both tightly as her intellect shot off a synesthestetic array—the taste of blue, the feel of vanilla, the sound of sweetness.

Both men could feel the tsunami rising inside Clara, body and mind. The young man battered away as roughly as the confines of her stuffed pussy would allow. The older man panted below as her wave gained momentum and began to crest. Clara felt she would explode all over the shore, destroying everything in her path. There was only one being she knew who would be able able bear the force of this impact—he was protecting her, goading her on.

The trio swayed and shuddered in tandem. The Doctors synced their breathing. Clara's explosion came.

She crooned and screamed like the TARDIS itself. Her pussy wrung the two cocks, squeezed them together. She felt like she was dematerializing atom by atom while the Doctors plowed on. Everything gained, everything lost, she released hot liquid onto the older man's belly.

That exquisite puddle was enough to set him off. He dug his fingers into Clara's beautiful thighs.

"More!" he cried to his counterpart.

The younger man bared his teeth once again. He shoved his cock all the way in, taking the other one with it, and thrust deep and fast. His hips ground into Clara's quivering arse. Clenching them both tight, Clara found the button to the Doctors' detonation device. They both screamed her name like a call-and-response. Dual eruptions of come filled her to the absolute brim, and a blinding white light came over the room.

oOo

Clara's pussy was still quaking as she opened her eyes.

When she regained her senses she found they were no longer on the rug by the fire. Instead she found herself glued to the older Doctor with come and sweat as she straddled him on the leather couch.

Searching for the younger man, Clara whipped her head from side to side, but her bow-tied beau was nowhere to be seen. Clara's were hands planted on the older man's chest, his softening cock still lodged inside her.

Her misty gaze flew to his in confusion.

"Is he...?"

The Doctor nodded ruefully. Deflated, Clara crumpled like a foil balloon. He gathered her to his side on the wide sofa. It was those human-emotiony-things again, the ones that so often confounded the Doctor. He sighed into her damp scalp.

"You're... sad. About... the other me?" he postulated.

Clara sniffled into his lean chest. She looked up at him.

"I'd be lying if I said I won't miss that face," she said.

The Doctor's hearts sank a little.

"But more than that," she continued, "I'm sad we wasted so much time getting back to... this." She curled her arm around him to punctuate the sentiment.

The Doctor's respiratory system kicked back in again. His eyes lit up.

"No more 'space dad?'"

Clara quirked a saucy eyebrow. "Why, is that something you're into?"

The Doctor stared at her for a moment before laughing. He slapped Clara lightly on the bum, then cupped her chin to place a loving kiss. Pulling away, he took in the adoration that welled up in her eyes.

"You know, that other face is always rumbling around somewhere in this head of mine," he said. "I'd be surprised if you didn't dream him up again."

Clara snuggled further into the Doctor's chest. "What a lucky girl I am—two madmen, one snogbox."


End file.
